We’ve been getting a heap of useful material out of decadent and romantic poets, so let’s continue. John Merivale was part of Lord Byron’s social circle, and this poem is about a vampiric plague in Pest, which is one of the three cities that merged to form modern Budapest in Hungary. The following recording was released into the public domain by Newgate. Novelist, who is one of my favourite Librivox recorders, thanks to her and to her production team.
In your campaign is this a single revener, in which case it’s the largest one ever recorded, or are these, alternately, thousands of revenants? House Tremere is going to want them stamped out, but the vast number of vampires gives them advantage at night when they are active. During the day they sleep, allowing even young magi to participate in the search and destroy mission. Some vampires, however, might stay awake in darkened spaces, and they have some sort of mesmeric power that might work on grogs or magi with weak Parmae Magicae.
As for stats, these are a variety of revenant, which are already fully written up in Realms of Power: The Infernal.
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I left the chaulkie cliftes of Old Englonde,
And paced thro’ manie a region faire to see,
Thorowe the reaulme of Greece, and Holie Londe,
Untille I journied into sadde Hongrie.
I sawe old Cecrops’ towne, and famous Rome;
But Davydd’s holie place I lyked best ;
I sawe straunge syghtes that made me pyne for home,
Bot moche the straungest in the towne of Pest.
It was a goodlie citye, fayre to see ;
By its prowde walles and statelie towres it gave
A delicate aspect to the countree,
With its brigg of boates across the Danow’s wave.
Yet many thinges with grief I did survaie :
The stretys all were mantell’d o’er with grass,
And, tho’ it were upon the sabbath daie,
No belles did tolle to call the folke to masse.
The churchyard gates with barrs were closyd fast,
Like to a sinnefull and accursedde place ;
It shew’d as tho’ the judgment daie were past,
And the dedde exyledfrom the throne of Grace.
At last an aged carle came halting bye—
A wofull wyghte he was, and sadde of cheere —
Of whom, if aught of cell or bowre were nighe,
For wearie pilgrimme’s rest, I ‘ganne to speire.
“Straunger!” he sedde, ” in Marye’s name departe !”
And, whan thus spoken, wolde have past me by.
His hollowe voyce sanke deepe into my harte ;
Yet I wolde not lett him passe, and askyd,”
Why?”” Tis now mid daye,” quoth hee, ” the sunne shines brighte,
And all thinges gladde, bot onlie heare in Peste :
But an ’twere winter wylde, at dedde of nighte,
Not heare, O straunger, sholdstthou seke to reste ;
Tho’ rain in torrents fell, and cold winde blew,
And thou with travell sore, and honger pale.”
” Tho’ the sunne,” saied I, “shine brighte, and theday be newe,
He not departe ontill thou’s tolde thy tale.”
This wofull wyghte thanne toke me by the honde;
His, like a skeletonne’s, was bonie and colde.
Hee lean’d, as tho’ hee scarse mote goe or stonde,
Like one who fourscore yeares hath, haply, tolde.
We came togither to the market-crosse,
And the wyghte, all wo begon, spake never worde;
Ne living thinge was sene our path to crosse,
(Tho’ dolours grones from many a house 1 herde,)
Save one poore dogge, that stalk’d athwart a courte,
Fearfullie howling with most pyteous wayle :
The sad manne whistled in a dismall sorte,
And the poore thing slunk away and hidd his tayle.
I felt my verye bloud crepe in my vaynes ;
My bones were icie-cold, my hayre on end :
I wish’d myself agen upon the playnes,
Yet cold not but that sad old manne attend.
The sadd old manne sate down upon a stone,
And I sate on another at his side.
He heved mournfully a pyteous grone,
And thanne to ease my dowtes his selfe applyde.
” Straunger !” quoth he, ” regard my visage well,
And eke these bonie fingerrs feel agen—
Howe manie winterrs semyth it they tell
I dowtingly replyde, “Three-score and ten.”
” Straunger ! not fourty yeres agonn I laye
An infant, mewling in the nurse’s armes ;
Not fourty dayes agonn, two daughterrs gaye
Did make me joyful by their opening charmes.
” Yet now I seme some fowrscore winterrs olde
And everie droppe of bloud hath left my vaynes ;
Als’ myfayre daughterrs twayne lye stitie and coide,
And bloudless, bound in Deth’s eternall chaynes.
Straunger! this towne so pleasaunt to our sygbtes.
With goodly towres and palaces so fayre,
Whilom for gentle dames and valiaunt knyghtes.
From all Hongaria’s londe the mede did beare.”
But now the few, still rescow’d from the dedde,
Are sobbing out their breath in sorie guyse ;
Alle, that had strength to flee, long since have fledde.
Save onlye I, who longe to close mine eyes.
” Seaven weekes are past sithence our folk begann
To pyne, and falle away—no reason why ;
The ruddiest visage turn’d to pale and wann,
And glassie stillnesse film’d the brightest eye.
” Some Doctours sedde, the lakes did agews breede,
Bot spring retorning wold the same disperse,
Whiles others, contrarie to nature’s creede,
Averr’d the seasonn’s chaunge wold make us worse.
” And tho’ we leugh at these, like doaters fonde,
Or faytours wont in paradoxe to deele,
Yet, as the sun wax’d warm, throughout the londe,
Allemennethe more did wintrie shiverings feele
.”At length it chaunc’d that one of station highe
Fell sicke, and dyed uponn the seaventh daie :
They op’d the corse the hidden cause to spie,
And founde that alle the bloud was drain’d awaie.
There was a tailour, Vulvius by name,
Who longe emongste us dwelt in honest pride ;
A worthie citizenne esteem’d by fame ;
That since some moneth of a soddeine dyde. “
Now thus it happ’d—as oft it chaunceth soe—
That, after he was iron, straunge rumours spred
Of evill haunts where ’twas his wont to iroe,
And midnight visitacyonns to the ded.
” Now, whanne this fearfull maladye had growne
To soche an hyght as men were loath to saye,
Emongst the reste in our unhappie towne,
My darlinge doughterrs sore tormentyd laye.
” Nathless I mark’d that ever whiles they pyned
Their appetyte for foode encrees’d the more ;
They fedde on richest meates whene’er they dyn’d,
And drancke of old Tokaye my choicest store.”
Thus, everie eve, their colour fresh arose,
And they did looke agen both briske and gaye ;
All nighte depe slomberrs did their eyelidds close ;
Bot worse and worse they woxe by breake of daye.
” One nyght yt chauncyd, as they slepyng laied,
Their serving wenche at midnight sought their room,
To bring some possett, brothe, or gellie, made
To quelle the plague that did their lives consume.
” Whenne, ere she reach ‘d the spot, a heavie sound
Of footsteps lumbering up the stayre she heard ;
And, soon as they had gain’d the top-most round,
The buried tailour to her sighte appear’d.
” She herd him ope my daughters’ chamber dore—
(Her lighte lettfalle, she had no force to crye,)
Then, in briefe space, agen—for soe she swore.
It lumber’d downe ; but farre more heavilee.
” This storye herde, albe’ I inly smyl’d
To think the seely mayd such fears cold shake,
Vet, the nexte nighte, to prove her fancies wyld,
I kept myselfe, till past midnighte, awake :
‘ Whanne, at the midnighte belle, a sounde I herd
Of heavie lumbering stepps, a sound of dred ;
The tailour Vulvius to my sighte appeard ;
And all my senses at the instant fledde.
” Next daye, I founde a fryer of mickle grace,
A learned clerke, and praied he wold me rede,
In soche a straunge, perplext, and divellishe case,
His ghostly counsaile how ’twere best procede.
” Into the churchyarde wee together wente,
And hee at everie grave-stone saied a prayer ;
Till at the tailour Vulvius’ monimente
We stopt—a spade and mattoke had we there.
” Wee digg’d the earth wherein the tailour laye,
Till at the tailour’s coffyn we arrived,
Nor there, I weene, moche labour fonde that daye,
For everie bolt was drawen and th’ hinges rived.
‘ ‘ This sighte was straunge, bot straunger was to see ;
The corse, tho’ laid som moneth’s space in mold,
Did shew like living manne, full blythe of glee,
And luddie, freshe, and comelie to behold.
” And now the cause wee happlie mote presume.
The Vampire—so he named this demonne guest—
Had burst the sacred cerements of the tomb,
And of the buried corse himselfe possest.
” This newes, whanne thro’ the towne wee made it knowne,
Unusual horrour seised the stoutest wyghtes,
As deming not the tailour’s grave alone
Had so bin made a haunt of dampned sprites.
” The churchyarde now was digged all aboute,
And everie new made grave laid bare to viewe,
Whanne everie corse that they dyd digge thereoute,
Seem’d,like the firste, offreshe and ruddie hewe.
” ‘Twas plain, the corses that the churchyards fill’d,
Were they whoe nightly lumber’d upp our stayre,
Whoe suck’d our bloud, the living banquettes will’d.
And left us alle bestraughte with blanke despayre.
” Andnowe the Priestes burne incense in the choyre,
And scatter Ave-maries o’er the grave,
And purifye the churche with lustrall fire,
And caste alle things profane in Danowe’s wave ;
” And they’ve barr’d with ironne barrs the churchyarde pale,
To kepe them inn ; but vayne is alle they doe :
For whan a ded manne hath lernt to drawe a nayle,
Hee can also burste an ironne bolte in two.”
The sadde old manne here endyd.
I arose, With myngled greefe and wonderment possest :
I rode nine leagues or ere I sought repose,
And never agen came nigh the towne of Peste.
Games From Folktales 